Proof of Intent by William J. Coughlin Page B

stripper.”
    Leon Prouty’s snaggle-toothed smile faded. He shrugged sullenly. “Whatever.”
    â€œCome into my office. Let’s talk about your future. Lisa, feel free to join us.” One of the most important things a criminal lawyer has to do with his clients is establish who is the top dog. When a person of criminal disposition thinks they have their attorney on a string—well, God help that poor bastard.
    I sat down and waited for Leon and Lisa to come in and make themselves comfortable. “Alright, Mr. Prouty,” I said. “While I was over at the police department on another matter, I picked up a copy of your police report. Let me tell you what the police say happened. They say that they received a call from a neighbor regarding a prowler on a recently built spec home out in the Cornish Pointe subdivision. That’s quite a high-rent district. The police say they rolled up and found you and what they described as ‘three Latino males’ on the property. The alleged three Latino males ran away and were never captured. You, on the other hand, were sitting in the cab of a rented Ryder truck. In the back of the truck . . .” I put on my reading glasses. “According to the inventory, the police discovered four ornamental trees, thirty-nine bushes, four cases of tulip bulbs, and approximately half an acre of sod. According to the report, this property had been recently landscaped, and you and these three Latino males were believed to have stripped the entire property and stuck all of this stuff in your rental truck. They valued the materials at roughly five thousand dollars. Does this accord, more or less, with what happened?”
    Leon laughed. “Obviously that cop ain’t landscaped his yard recently.”
    â€œMeaning what?”
    â€œThe sod alone’s worth five grand, retail. Them big-ass Japanese maples? Eleven hundred a pop, easy. There was ligustrums, roses, a boatload of real nice Cheyenne privets and shit. You’re talking twenty-five grand worth of stuff easy. Of course I couldn’t of got more than six or seven out of it on the, ah, used landscaping market.” He smiled at me as though I would find this as amusing as he apparently did.
    â€œWhat kind of outcome would make you happy here, Leon?”
    Leon Prouty blinked. “Huh? I want you to get me off!”
    It was my turn to be amused. “What you just did, Mr. Prouty, was virtually admit to me that you and three confederates attempted to steal twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of property. You were caught red-handed. In your police file, I note that you have been convicted three times already on various property offenses. And you’re only twenty-two years old. What this means is that, barring a miracle, the only question here is how much jail time you serve.”
    Leon Prouty looked over at Lisa, confused. “But she said—”
    â€œLisa has been my employee for about twenty-four hours. She is not a lawyer. She has virtually no experience with criminal law. If you’re looking for legal opinions, ask me.”
    â€œYeah, but . . .”
    â€œIf you’re willing to roll over on the Mexicans—”
    â€œShoot, them boys is back in Tijuana by now.”
    â€œThen it’s a question of pleading it down to something you can live with.”
    Leon’s eyes hardened slightly. “Mr. Sloan, I didn’t come to you because I was looking to plead. I want a trial. Expert witnesses, the whole bit.”
    â€œJudging by the condition of your teeth, son, I’d guess you can’t afford a trial.”
    Leon looked over at Lisa. “Man, we was getting along real good till the old guy come in. I want
you
to be my lawyer.”
    Lisa glanced at the floor.
    â€œMr. Prouty,” I said, “how many times do I have to tell you?
I’m
the lawyer. You cannot retain a nonlawyer to represent you in a court of law. And speaking of